


Get the scissors; you’re tongue-tied

by Subtle_Shenanigans



Category: Animaniacs
Genre: 2020 Animaniacs, Animaniac Reboot, Cuddle Pile, Dreams are one of those weird realities that, Fear, GOSH DANGIT HOW DOES ONE BE FUNNY, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, In hindsight not my best work but eh, Insecurity, Isolation, Kinda?, Look it turns to a nightmare, Low Self Esteem, Minor blood warning, Muteness, Nightmares, S1E11, Spoilers for that ep, The IT parody ep, The warners are part cat AND dog, Yakko centric, Yakko is insecure, Yakko is older bro, and dad, do not repost to another site, fears, look I made a post and it blew up o tumblr, no beta we die, so i made a drabble, they don’t have complete control over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27721264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Subtle_Shenanigans/pseuds/Subtle_Shenanigans
Summary: Nicklewise had been fun to mess around with.Yakko’s nightmare? Not so much.
Relationships: Yakko & Wakko & Dot
Comments: 13
Kudos: 271





	Get the scissors; you’re tongue-tied

**Author's Note:**

> I made a tumble post about how Yakko, who didn’t have support growing up (if we’re going with the either orphan or ran away from home headcanons), gave his siblings lots of support and reassurance. So Wakko and Dot weren’t afraid, due to Yakko being a loving brother/guardian. But who did Yakko have? 
> 
> I’m gonna leave it kinda vague as to their past - the only thing I’m cementing is that Yakko raised his  
> siblings.
> 
> Anyways, a drabble.

It’s nothing, really. Nickelwise hadn’t been a threat - in fact, he had been lots of fun! An absolute hoot! They had all laughed about him on the way home, bemoaning losing their new ‘friend’.

But now, in the dark and stuffed with candies and chocolates, they’re cuddled in a pile tonight. Wakko drapped across his feet and Dot curled against his chest. They snooze and snore, and give the occasional purr. They don’t always sleep together, but when they do they always sleep well.

But not tonight.

And Yakko can’t understand why.

Sleep stays out of reach, and while comfortable, there’s a hum under his skin, most decidedly _not_ a purr.   
  
He has the urge to turn over, reposition. But Dot lets out a sleepy hum, snuggling closer.

Determinedly, he shuts his eyes, (maybe a tad too tight), and forces himself to sleep.

* * *

Sleep isn’t the usual melting of scenery and turning over to thoughts left unspoken. It’s not a gag dream, either, for a bit.

It’s the memory of speaking out, office walls absorbing the sound, dying out so he’s all alone.

The chairs are empty.

Empty, empty, empty. Not a soul around. Not even milk to curdle.

He craves it - a laugh, a groan, hell, even a swear. He’d even take someone trying to strangle him. But nothing responds even as he grows more desperate.

He wants to cry.

It doesn’t make sense.

He _knows_ he’s the funny one; that he’s quick and clever and ten steps ahead (most of the time). His weapon was the words he honed. His reward, a response. So why dream this?

He wasn’t _upset_ , right?

  
. . .right?

“Wow, call this a dream? I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s a real _snore_ , but-“

He gasps, and gags, and it feels like his tongue is all knotted up; even his vocal cords feel stiff and immobile.

He can’t pull his tongue far out enough to see; he tries not to panic. But his fingers slip and he can’t get a grip on his tongue, so he can’t undo the knot.

Not that it would do much.

(Knot. Not. Heh.)

Reaching into hammerspace, he grasps about. Dreams make it too muddled to specify, so he grabs for What He Needs. Gripping something, he pulls it out with a silent sigh of relief.

It’s turned to confusion, and then fear.

A pair of scissors that gleam in the low light.

Yakko isn’t about to mutilate his tongue in some dang dream; he doesn’t trust it’ll be turned to a gag or a trick (and dreams have this weird influence that he always fears will leak to reality.)

So yeah, he isn’t gonna use the scissors for that. So why the hell did they come from his hammerspace?

“Und vhat do you tink the scissors symbolize, Yakko?”

Looking up slowly, he sees he’s in Scratchy’s office, the doc himself in his little psychiatrist chair, a notebook in his lap. Yakko can’t see his eyes past his glasses, and his face is neutral.

He had never slid into a scene so effortlessly, to not have noticed the change.

‘ _What?’_

Of course he still can’t speak. Maybe Scratchy can hear him. Maybe he can read his confusion.

Scratchy gestures with his pen. “Symbolism; vhat do you tink it means, to you? Do you feel cut-off, as it vere? The need to cut something out ov your life? Vhy did you pull the scissors out?”

He pulled them out because it’s what was there.

No, because the dream was a screwy place to be.

No, it’s-

He shakes his head and growls soundlessly. Jumping up, and flipping a false bird (he wasn’t about to start swearing now), he grabs the Fabric, intent on cutting himself out of the scene.

Except, it doesn’t work.

“Nice try, genius.”

It’s his voice, but not from his mouth. And he turns to find himself in a room of darkness. He’s standing on the floor now and the cold seeps into his feet.

No one is there.

“And no one will be. Look, give it up. You’re afraid. Okay? Because you’re not that great. So get over it.”

Yakko clutched the scissors tightly. This wasn’t a ventriloquism act; it wasn’t someone mocking his voice. It was him to himself, in his old snarky drawl.

“Yeah, real quick on the uptake. Look, you ain’t gettin’ out of here on your terms. That ain’t how this works. Don’t you know why none of us can control dreams?”

Because it wasn’t just a separate plane of reality; Yakko knew that. It was an individuals mind. And no one had control over that. Not in the way they wanted control.

He was startled when he heard clapping.

“Give the kid a prize! He remembered something important! Now listen up yapper, and try not to think too loud. The reason you couldn’t sleep was because you didn’t _want_ to sleep. You’re upset, whether you’re gonna admit it or not, and your brain knew it wouldn’t end up well in the dream world. So next time ya can’t sleep: don’t.”

Gosh, was he really this much of an a- a jerk?

“Only to you-“

He’s alone again as the voice cuts out; he still can’t speak, and he grips his throat.   
  
And his mouth tastes like iron and the scissors gleam like they’ve been used to cut a jelly sandwich. Except jelly isn’t that thin.

His mouth doesn’t hurt, and he can feel his tongue is no longer tied, but he still can’t speak; his vocal cords are strangled, and he wheezes and coughs and cries out. There’s no one to listen, no one for him to call out to, he’s alone, ignored-

  
  


And then Dot and Wakko are hovering over him, worried. Wakko is laying over his chest and Dot has a hand on his face.

“Yakko?”

“. . .wha?”

Dot snuggles into him, relieved, and Wakko gives a questioning whine.

“Uh. . .” His head is fuzzy and he doesn’t feel right, his tongue heavy. He leans up, sure not to topple his siblings, and rubs his head with a free hand. They don’t seem hurt so he doesn’t panic. “Are you guys okay?”

“Us?” Wakko is incredulous, and Dot frowns up at him. “You were the one having a nightmare!”

“Yeah!” Dot adds. “Are _you_ okay?”

“I. . .was?”

He doesn’t remember it, but dreams do that sometimes. Topsy turvy thoughts, that typically fade.

He remembers textures-feelings-flashes of _something_ , but dispels it from his mind. Ears comically flopping as he shakes his head.

“Nah; and even if I was, I’m not worried. How could I be with such cute little dreamcatchers,” he nuzzles their noses in turn, and both giggle.

It doesn’t take much to settle them down after that; Dot’s yawning and Wakko’s voice is a drawl as he talks about his dream. Yakko stretches briefly and then curls up, Wakko hugging his feet and Dot hugging his chest; he curls his tail over his brother’s shoulder and holds his sister close.

Maybe he did have a nightmare. Maybe he didn’t. Either way, he wasn’t going to worry about it right now.

**Author's Note:**

> This is very different from my usual dream-sequence type of writing, but since the Warners have some control over the Fabric of their reality, I like to think that the dream realm is a whole other ball game.


End file.
